


An Excerpt From Prisoner of Azkaban, Retold

by Lupin_Smiled



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Based on a Tumblr Post, Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Fix-It of Sorts, M/M, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Marriage Proposal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-16
Updated: 2018-05-16
Packaged: 2019-05-07 19:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14677644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lupin_Smiled/pseuds/Lupin_Smiled
Summary: I'm a relatively new writer. This is a taste of much larger things yet to come. Leave comments, let me know what you think.





	An Excerpt From Prisoner of Azkaban, Retold

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a relatively new writer. This is a taste of much larger things yet to come. Leave comments, let me know what you think.

The sun filtering through the curtains of his office was bright, causing Remus to squint his eyes and raise a hand as a shield. He’d paused in what he’d been doing nearly fifteen minutes ago to gaze out the window and onto the grounds of the school he’d once called a home… the grounds he’d hoped, however irrationally, to call his home yet again. Things had changed, so very much from the September day that brought about the start of term, and his things were very nearly packed to leave. It had been irrational, perhaps even stupid, to hope…  
The night before was quite a blur, if he was honest, but the nights of his transformations usually were. Some of the story, he’d heard whispers in the hallway-- Sirius Black, escaped (he’d smiled). Some of the story was told in the new scars on his back, chest, and the gashes across his face. Long slashes from Buckbeak’s talons, smaller scratches and bites that he could only assume had come from Sirius’s teeth-- or Padfoot, as they called him when he’d taken the form of the dog.  
He had analyzed each new cut with wonder when he’d woken from a particularly fitful sleep, wondering what exactly had happened. There was no need; someone would tell him shortly, he was sure. The gashes didn’t hurt so much. They’d probably been healed by the matron, Poppy Pomfrey, after he’d fallen unconscious following his transformation from wolf to human. He’d have to thank her; he made a mental note. The woman had been taking care of him since he was a teenager years back, and he’d never properly thanked her then, either.  
Remus turned from the window and chanced a look at the thick, stained old parchment on his desk. One of few things still left out. Next to it was a smaller, thinner, lighter piece of paper. That would be important in some time; it wasn’t now. Black sets of footprints wandered the miniaturized halls of the school on the map, some coming and going from the dormitories, some in the Great Hall for breakfast. There was young Harry, in the hospital wing. Still asleep following the night before, Remus would gather. Hermione and Ron with him, it seemed. Good, good, none of them was dead-- nor, it seemed, was Snape, who could be seen pacing the length of his office on the map. Remus could picture the agitation in his steps, and chanced a small smile.  
None of those names, though, was his priority. One caught his eyes, and the footprints were headed straight to Remus’s office, probably not much longer than a forty-five second walk. Good thing, too, just the man Remus wanted to see. He straightened, folding the map and lifting his wand.  
“Mischief Managed,” he whispered, and the parchment was wiped clean. The door of the office opened as Remus set his wand down atop it. “Headmaster.”  
Albus Dumbledore stood in the doorway of his office, looking worn and exhausted. His long silver hair and beard were tucked into his belt, and his eyes were as piercing behind his half-moon spectacles as they’d been many years ago when he’d been Remus’s headmaster as opposed to his boss. He took in the state of Remus’s office, half-packed, without question. Remus supposed they’d get to that.  
“Remus. I suspect you heard that Sirius escaped.”  
The tone of voice mirrored that of when Remus had been questioned about the pranks Sirius and James Potter used to pull. Soft, mild amusement, just enough sternness to get through. This, though, had not been Remus’s doing, but Harry’s, he gathered, who was really too like his father for his own good, and Hermione Granger’s, who was far more clever than anyone realized.  
“And I understand that Severus, in his rage at Sirius escaping, has let the true nature of what I am slip,” Remus replied, voice mild. He wasn’t angry. Not yet. That would be saved for something else entirely.  
“Arrangements could still be made--”  
“No, they can’t,” Remus replied with a quiet sigh. He wouldn’t want them to be, even if they could. “The letters will start pouring in by tomorrow. No parent will want someone like me teaching their children, I offer too much risk. I am too much of a liability.” He fell silent for a long moment, his eyes finding the window again..” And even if you offered me the job, Albus, I do not think I’d take it.” He glanced back at the elderly wizard standing before him, and for once, didn’t shrink away.  
“Ah.” Albus’s gaze bored into his own eyes over his glasses, glinting in the sunlight that filled the small office. Oftentimes, Remus thought that that gaze could pierce the soul. Maybe it was now, he’d have no way of knowing. “Are you upset with me, Remus?” He sounded curious, and almost taken aback. Remus, after all, was not a man of harsh temper. His anger could usually be resolved without a fight, but this…  
This had been burning, building for twelve years, and Remus didn’t think there was a simple answer to his anger this time. He didn’t think it was something he could talk out calmly. And it all boiled down to Sirius Black, the man who had escaped their castle the night previously, with the help of two thirteen year old students, and a criminal hippogriff. Sirius Black, who’d been convicted on thirteen counts of murder, who’d rotted away in prison for twelve years of it, who had been Remus’s best friend, and who, last night, had been proven to be innocent.  
“You told me he’d done it,” Remus began quietly, and Albus’s gaze dropped, like he dared to be ashamed, now. Twelve years too late.  
“And I thought he had, Remus. So did you.”  
“I didn’t,” Remus argued fiercely, his voice low, not raising above the calm, level tone it often was. But it was cold now, like ice. “I told you countless times that it wasn’t him, that he would never betray James or Lily like that, that he would never murder Muggles--”  
“The evidence was there, Remus--”  
“Was it?” Remus snapped, his voice sharp, and cutting Albus’s off instantly. “Did anyone look? Did anyone try? I did! For months, I tried, with no help from anyone, because you were so quick to write Sirius off as a traitor and a murderer! James’ best friend, the one who turned him over to Voldemort, him and Lily, and Harry-- he loved that boy as if he were his own son, Albus, and I told you-- You told me to let it go, you told me--”  
“Your feelings had blinded you, Remus,” Albus interrupted softly. His voice was so soft; it had no right to sound so soft. Remus couldn’t quite contain a scoff. A scoff, he was sure, he had learned from James while they were still in school together.  
His feelings, blinded him.  
No, they hadn’t. He’d loved Sirius, yes, from the time they were in school together, from the first day they’d met on the train that first year at Hogwarts. It had only grown over the years, through Sirius learning that Remus was a werewolf, through James and Sirius and Peter all becoming Animagi to aid him through his transformations.  
Those feelings had never blinded him. Even afterwards, when everyone believed that Sirius had sold James and Lily to Voldemort, and murdered Peter, Remus had always suspected that there was something else. Something they’d missed. It hadn’t been his love for Sirius that had made him think so. It had been simple rational thought. It hadn’t made sense for Sirius to be behind the murders.  
After weeks of begging, of fighting, of searching for any sort of answer, Remus had finally taken Albus’s advice and let it go. Because everyone couldn’t be wrong. It had to have been Sirius. And it turned out that everybody else was wrong; Sirius hadn’t committed those murders, after all. It had been Peter Pettigrew, their friend, the person they’d trusted--  
“I wasn’t blinded by what I felt for Sirius, Albus, I knew! And I told you, and you didn’t listen. You let him rot in hell for twelve years! And why? Because he wasn’t convenient to you anymore?”  
Albus had the good sense to look ashamed of himself. Remus wasn’t sure he bought it, anyway. Albus was always remarkably good at having all his pawns in the right place. The people he didn’t need often got left to rot. If not in Azkaban, then in abusive households. His mind went to Harry, and then back to Sirius. Yes, Albus may have thought he was doing the right things for these kids, for any of them, but Remus, now that he’d had years of experience watching Dumbledore and seeing his plans play out, knew better.  
“If I had known, in any part of myself, that Sirius was innocent, I would have had him released, Remus.”  
“You know now, and you’re doing nothing to prove his innocence,” Remus replied bluntly, his fingers playing with the second piece of parchment on his desk, the lighter, thinner one.  
“That’s quite unfair, Remus--”  
“It isn’t,” Remus bit back, cold and bitter. He had admired Albus Dumbledore endlessly. A part of him still did, but he didn’t think this was something he could forgive. They both knew that Sirius was innocent, and yet again, it seemed that Dumbledore wanted nothing to do with proving it. “It would be better for Harry if Sirius’s innocence was proven, too, he could get out of that household. But you never cared about getting children out of abusive households. That was the first place you left Sirius to rot, and Severus as well, until he became of use to you again. I won’t say anything to Harry about any of this, Albus, as it’s better for now that he can trust you, but you do not have my trust. And I will be checking in to at least make sure that Harry is better treated at your hand than Sirius was.”  
The words hurt to say. Albus had been something of his hero for many, many years, but Remus had finally reached his breaking point. He’d only ever truly trusted a couple of people in his life. James and Lily were dead, Peter was a traitor… at the least, now he had Sirius back. He’d make do with that.  
He picked up the piece of paper he’d been toying with and passed it across the desk to where Albus was standing. “What is this?” Albus asked, taking it in his long, knobbly fingers.  
“My letter of resignation.”  
“Nothing I can do will convince you to stay?”  
“I have a reunion waiting for me that’s about twelve years in the making,” Remus replied coolly, drumming his fingers against the surface of his desk.  
“As you were, then.” Albus glanced around the already mostly packed room and then turned to go. Stopping in the doorway, he looked back. “It has been nice to see you again, Remus.” And then he was gone.  
Remus sighed heavily and opened the top drawer of his desk, pulling from it a speckled gray feather and a crumpled, hastily written letter. He’d no idea when Sirius had had time to leave it for him, possibly before Remus had even transformed, shoving it into the pocket of his jacket, just in case. Knowing his luck, Sirius had had the letter written for months. It sounded like the kind of thing Sirius might do. Frankly, it didn’t matter, and he was glad he had the little letter; the proof that last night had not all been some twisted fantasy after all. He’d read it many times just in the past couple of hours.

Remus,  
It has been a long time, my old friend. I don’t know where we find ourselves now, but I do know that if you’ve found it in yourself to see my innocence and to forgive me for ever thinking you were the spy that endangered our dearest friends, then I’d rather like to see you again. Sooner, rather than later. Take your time, Moony, find me at your own pace. It won’t be hard, you’ve always had a knack for finding me when I was lost, and I’ll be waiting for you.  
Padfoot  
P. S, The last thing I ever asked you, before I got carted off to Azkaban. That still stands. I do hope you come bearing an answer.

Remus’s lips curled into a smile as he ran his fingers over the words etched onto the paper. Some of the letters were rough, where he’d pressed the quill too hard. Probably in a hurry. The old nickname, Moony… Well, it had been Sirius who’d come up with it. And the postscript, scrawled at the bottom of the small piece of paper…  
He’d never forgotten what Sirius had asked him before Azkaban, and it had been a part of what had assured him of Sirius’s innocence. Whispered, in a shadowed room, young and unafraid. Muffled and quiet and rushed as they’d explored each other’s bodies, “Marry me, Moony,” less of a question and more of a demand. And Remus had laughed against Sirius’s throat, a silent yes that he’d never voiced.  
And if that was still what Sirius wanted, Remus would not protest.  
He opened the Marauder’s Map yet again, murmured, “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” The map opened, presented itself to him, and Remus scanned the castle floor. Harry was approaching his office. Good, good, it wouldn’t do to leave without some sort of explanation of why. His status here played a good role. He didn’t want Harry to lose his trust of Albus just yet; Albus was not a bad man, the time had simply passed that he and Remus saw eye to eye.  
He gazed out the window again, watching the birds as they flew past the too bright sun. Remus would have one more conversation with his best friend’s son, the boy who looked so like James, with striking green eyes that could only belong to Lily. A boy so brave and sharp and rebellious that it was almost like having James there at his side again.  
And then he’d leave. He’d find Sirius, and he’d regain at least some sense of normalcy in his life. Yes, the worst was probably yet to come, but with a crumpled letter and a hippogriff feather stashed away in his pocket, and the sun shining bright through the window, Remus felt something he hadn’t allowed himself to feel in years.  
He felt hope. All would be well.


End file.
